


spark up, buzzcut (i've got my tongue between your teeth)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Hair Pulling, M/M, Press Junket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: The first time Sebastian cuts his hair, he kind of makes a thing of it.The second time, after Civil War, he lets the hair stick around. He plays with it more than he realizes, runs his fingers through it, messes it up and smooths it back down, and he doesn’t really notice that Anthony is watching him do all of this until one day in between interviews, Mackie reaches over and slides his fingers up the nape of Seb’s neck so he can grab a fistful of hair, tug on it not-so-gently.“You should really cut this off,” he tells Seb, who can only make a vaguely strangled noise and try very hard not to flush, or worse yet, to spring a boner that his tight jeans will do nothing to hide. He just—he likes people touching his hair, always has, it feels good and it’s kinda hot all at once, and Mackie pulling on it while telling him what to do is something he hasn’t even considered he might have to brace himself against.





	spark up, buzzcut (i've got my tongue between your teeth)

The first time Sebastian cuts his hair, he kind of makes a thing of it. They’re done with filming, although nothing’s formally wrapped yet: a little drunk on set, hanging out in Evans’ trailer and toasting to the end of this huge crazy thing, and Seb gets the great idea to go steal a pair of scissors from costume and pass them around, let everyone who’s still there hack off a strand of it. It’s half extensions and half his own grown-out mess, anyway, and everyone gets increasingly into it as they get deeper into the bottle of whisky Chris had cracked open.

Mackie’s not there, has already shot back off to New Orleans to get back into his actual real life, and Seb doesn’t really know him that well but he snaps a photo of the mess of scissored hair scattered all over the floor, gets Mackie’s number out of Chris and sends it as a text without comment. It seems like a good idea at the time; that might be because of all the whisky, maybe, but he wants to be better friends with Anthony, hasn’t been sure until now how to crack through the awkwardness of being a couple of strangers on set together, and this feels like as good a way as any to break the ice.

_You did it without me?_ Mackie texts back the next morning, _that’s cold, Sebastian_ , and Seb wakes up to the sound of his phone going off. He’s deeply, purely, painfully hungover: even the brightness of his screen makes him groan softly into his pillow, and it takes him a minute to figure out what the fuck is going on, what Mackie is even referring to.

_You took off too soon_ , he replies, and then has the bright idea to take a selfie, because he has a vague recollection that his hair might look pretty fucking bad right now.

It does, oh my god, it looks _so fucking bad_ , and he takes a couple pictures, squinting up at his phone, sends them off before he can overthink it.

_You look like a fucking scarecrow, holy shit_ , Mackie replies. _I’m gonna leak these to TMZ immediately._

_Aw, come on_ , Seb says. _Blame Evans, he was the terrible barber here. I’m gonna have to wear baseball caps every fucking minute until I can get to my hairdresser._

_Your life is a vale of tears_ , Mackie sends, and then thirty seconds later Seb’s phone is ringing with Mackie on the other end of the line, laughing a little and asking about the end of filming, what Seb’s got coming up next, telling him about the bar he owns in Brooklyn and making Seb promise he’ll come visit for a drink once he’s back in Manhattan. It’s a little overwhelming, to be honest—it’s what Sebastian wanted, to make friends, but faced with all this enthusiasm he’s not quite sure what to do with it—but he laughs in the right places, answers Mackie’s questions and even ventures his own, and realizes an hour later that he’s still in bed, running fifteen minutes late to call his agent, with a haircut so bad his hairdresser is actually going to laugh at him. It’s. Something, he thinks, and wonders where it might all go from here.

 

The second time, after Civil War, he lets the hair stick around. It’s taken so fucking long to grow, anyway, and it turns out to work okay for the casting director when he auditions for some 70s comedy thing after they’re done shooting for Marvel.

_You cut your hair yet?_ Mackie texts him, at increasingly-frequent intervals, which kind of makes sense given the amount of absolute shit he’d given Seb about it when they were on set, laughing like a drain every time Sebastian fucked up a take because his hair caught in his costume or blew into his goddamn eyes or once, memorably, right into Mackie’s open mouth. _Don’t lie, you love how high maintenance it is, don’t you._

Maybe that’s why when Sebastian does finally eventually get it cut for the press tour, he keeps it longer than he normally might, long enough that it falls into his eyes unless he combs it back. He plays with it more than he realizes, runs his fingers through it, messes it up and smooths it back down, and he doesn’t really notice that Anthony is watching him do all of this until one day in between interviews, Mackie reaches over and slides his fingers up the nape of Seb’s neck so he can grab a fistful of hair, tug on it not-so-gently.

“You should really cut this off,” he tells Seb, who can only make a vaguely strangled noise and try very hard not to flush, or worse yet, to spring a boner that his tight jeans will do nothing to hide. He just—he likes people touching his hair, always has, it feels good and it’s kinda hot all at once, and Mackie pulling on it while telling him what to do is something he hasn’t even considered he might have to brace himself against.

“Don’t be jealous,” he says instead. Sips his Diet Coke. “You know it looks good.”

“Yeah, look at the coif on this guy,” Mackie says five minutes later, and Seb flashes him a grin, runs his fingers through it for the millionth time that day. Wonders if he’s imagining Mackie’s eyes lingering on it like maybe he wants to touch it again.

 

He doesn’t have time to grow it out for Infinity War. Balancing too many different filming commitments, projects that won’t work with a stringy grown-out bowl cut situation, and so makeup goes for the wig, some lace-front thing with more bounce and volume than they’d ever managed in his own hair even when they try real hard to make it into a grunge look. Mackie laughs at him anyway, pulls it when nobody's looking, and every time Seb has to actively stop himself from leaning into the touch or going down on his knees.

They catch up in LA a few weeks before the premiere, in the same city for once with Mackie meeting some director for a potential new project, Seb about to start work on Destroyer. Mackie brings over a bottle of Jack, a bag of tacos, and they sit in Sebastian’s short-lease apartment and eat with their fingers and get way too drunk for a Tuesday night, until they wind up out on the balcony smoking cigarettes in the warm LA wind, and then Sebastian gets a bright idea.

“Hey,” he says. Runs his fingers through the mid-length of his hair, ruffles it a little. “They told me I could cut this shit off for Destroyer, right. Wardrobe said, quote, ‘go ahead and fuck it up, we’re gonna make you look like a skinhead dirtbag anyway.’ I should do it now, I’ve even got clippers.”

“That is a bad idea,” Anthony says lazily, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “You should definitely do it, that shit will be hilarious.”

“It’ll be _great_ ,” Seb says. “Come on, you always bug me about not getting to cut my hair when I’ve grown it out, now’s your chance.”

“Oh, I am not touching your hair, brother,” Mackie tells him. “But yeah, I’ll watch, this is too good to pass up.”

That sort of feels like Mackie is watching this as a disaster in progress, Sebastian thinks to himself, but he’s not gonna back out now; he stubs out his cigarette, pours himself another bourbon and heads back inside to hunt for the clippers he’d bought on a whim from the corner drugstore. Mackie follows him into the bathroom, bottle in hand. Sets it down on the counter and leans in the doorway, watches in the mirror as Sebastian evaluates himself, checks the guard on the clippers.

“You have no goddamn idea what you’re doing, do you,” Anthony drawls, and Seb scowls briefly. Tilts his head to one side.

“How hard can it be,” he says. Gets the clippers going and figures he’s just gotta start, it doesn’t matter how. Swipes them in one long stroke along his temple and watches the cut hair float away until it drifts down to pile up in the sink.

“Wow, you’re actually doing it,” Mackie says. “You know this is gonna wind up the same as before, man. You’re not even in the same city as your hairdresser. I’m gonna steal all your ball caps, make you go out in public. Shit, I’ll tip off the paparazzi.” And then he’s pulling out another cigarette, lighting it up, smoking and drinking like he’s not in someone else’s house watching them make terrible decisions and doing nothing at all to help the situation.

“Quit smoking in my apartment, it ain’t in the lease,” Sebastian says, frowning at his reflection, and Mackie ignores him, so Seb reaches out, steals the cigarette and takes a drag, leaves it between his lips as he goes in for another stroke of the clippers. They slip in his hand, the line going crooked, and Seb hisses, tries to correct and winds up making it worse. “Fuck,” he mutters, and tries again, taking it higher up this time; it’s not exactly working out the way he might have hoped.

“You are fucking this completely up,” Mackie tells him, and then he is stepping in, taking the clippers off Sebastian and squinting critically at his hair. He touches his fingers to Seb’s temple, angles his head one way and another, and then starts using the clippers to shave away the hair precise enough that he’s clearly done this before.

Sebastian smokes his cigarette. Watches Mackie in the mirror, the way he looks when he’s concentrating, and tries to ignore Mackie’s hands in his hair, how he’s touching Seb with these easy proprietary gestures to make him move his head how Mackie wants him.

“God,” Mackie murmurs, “yeah, you’re gonna look like a dirtbag skinhead, alright,” and he’s stroking his fingers down the nape of Seb’s neck where it’s been clipped back close to the skin, newly hypersensitive.

Seb shivers. Exhales, feeling suddenly untethered, dizzy, drunker than he was five minutes ago, and Mackie takes the almost burnt-out cigarette back from him, smokes it down to the butt and drops it in the sink. Licks his lips, drinks his bourbon, and it gleams wetly on his mouth until Seb feels like he can’t look away. Sebastian runs his own hand over his head, rubs the velveted shortness at the back, the long waves Mackie’s done nothing to on top.

“They’re probably gonna cut this shit off too,” he says, turning around to face Mackie, sipping his drink, and Mackie’s gaze drops to his mouth for a moment before snapping back up to catch Sebastian’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “probably,” and then he’s sliding his hand back into Seb’s hair, gathering it up into a fistful and tugging hard enough that Seb’s head snaps back, throat bared.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Seb swears, the rush of arousal hitting him all at once, and slams his mouth against Mackie’s all lust and whisky and cigarette smoke.

 

It’s like this has been building up between the two of them for years, burning slow until one of them actually decides to do something about it, but now that it’s happening it’s fucking ferocious, sharp and out of control and glorious. Anthony sinks his teeth into Seb’s lower lip, hard enough to bruise, and Seb bites back, yanks Mackie’s shirt up and digs his nails into the hot skin of Mackie’s chest like he wants to draw blood.

“Tell me you packed lube,” Mackie says, low and urgent, and Seb kisses him again, grinds his hips against Mackie’s so their dicks are dragging against each other through layers of cotton and denim.

“Condoms and lube, I’m not a goddamn idiot,” he says, breathless, and manages somehow to drag Mackie towards the hotel-furnished bedroom.

They’re drunk enough that they fuck faster and harder than they should, the edge of pain just making it even better. Mackie drips lube over his fingers, rubs them deceptively gentle over Seb’s hole and then pushes two fingers in all the way up to the knuckle, swallowing Seb’s shout of surprised pleasure-pain-desire. He keeps pulling Seb’s fucking hair, letting it go and then grabbing tight again, and the buzz of it is getting under Seb’s skin, making him pliable and needy and desperate for it; he gasps into it, kisses and kisses until he doesn’t know where Anthony ends and he begins, until all he can taste is hot skin and sweat and the burn of liquor and cigarettes, and then Mackie rolls him over, holds him down with a hand wrapped casually over the nape of Seb’s neck and pushes in, a long slide that has Sebastian crying out and arching back into it and actually fucking sobbing for breath like this whole thing might make him cry before the end of it.

“Yeah,” Mackie says, “that— yeah,” and pulls back, shoves in again harder, all Seb’s nerve endings firing at once so that all he can do is swear under his breath, shove right back.

“Come on,” he says, “come on, fuck me already,” and hears himself whine in the back of his throat, already trying to fuck himself on Anthony’s dick. Anthony presses his hand down harder against Seb’s neck. Grabs him by the hips, yanks him up, grinds slow and teasing right up on his ass for a minute and then gets to fucking him like Seb wants, hard thrusts that have Seb exhaling hard every time Mackie slams back into him. They’re fucking like two guys who’ve spent months working out for like two hours a day, getting muscle for this goddamn neverending franchise, and Seb’s never been so glad he’s kept up going to the goddamn gym because the sheer physicality of it all, the heat of Mackie’s skin against his, how they’re sweaty and rough, it’s all so fucking good he might go ahead and die from it.

“God,” Mackie says, breathless, and pulls out, flips Sebastian over again and hooks Seb’s legs up over his shoulders, lines his dick up and pushes back into him. The change of angle, being face to face, it’s so intense Seb kind of wants to close his eyes, check out a little, but Mackie grins down at him, says, “you should touch yourself,” with a glance down at Seb’s dick, drooling slick all over his belly, and Seb catches his breath, spits in his hand and wraps it around his dick. “Yeah,” Mackie says, “yeah, baby, like that, God,” and Seb’s dick twitches like he might come any second if Mackie keeps telling him what to do and calling him _baby_ in that sweet warm tone, good fucking Christ.

“Come here,” he says, daring, and Anthony leans in closer, rests his forehead against Seb’s and kisses him slow, a little tender; it makes Seb’s breath catch, makes him grab at Mackie’s shoulders, Mackie’s so _goddamn gorgeous_ and his dick is rubbing right up against that spot that makes Seb’s eyes roll back in his head, and then Anthony grabs Sebastian by the hair again, yanks his head back, sinks his teeth in right over the pulse in Seb’s throat, and Seb comes hard enough he thinks he might black out a little.

 

“Christ,” he says after, voice hoarse, and Mackie laughs, pushes onto his elbows so he can pull out and get rid of the condom.

“Shit, if I’d known I could just pull your hair and have you beg for it like that I’d have tried harder to get in on it years ago.”

“Christ,” Seb says again, inarticulate and unable to do anything with that. Smooths his palm over Mackie’s back, dragging his fingers slowly down the line of his spine. Kisses the curve of Mackie’s shoulder. “You gonna stay?”

“Well, I’m sure as shit not getting an Uber home like this,” Mackie tells him. “Yeah, I’ll stay. You got a spare toothbrush?”

“Probably,” Seb yawns. Curls in closer, and Anthony strokes his fingers through Seb’s hair, gentler this time.

“They cut this shit short, you’re just gonna have to grow it again,” he says, knowing, and Seb makes a noise of agreement, presses up into it.

 

They ask him about the long hair, in the Infinity War press tour, because of course they do, he guesses it’s kind of an iconic look by now, and he figures this is a perfect moment to get back at Anthony for all the ribbing about it up until now.

“Yeah,” he agrees, smirking a little, “it’s nice, you know, I like to blow it in Anthony’s face,” and Anthony makes a satisfyingly outraged noise.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” he says though, smirking right back, dropping his long lashes as if that’ll hide the look he’s giving Seb. “Your haircut now, though, that’s nice.”

“Thanks, man,” Sebastian says. Ducks his head, gives Anthony a tiny smile. “You know, I’ve got a good hairdresser.”

“Do you just,” Mackie murmurs, brushes his fingers against the nape of Seb’s neck as he stretches, and they’re on goddamn camera but all Seb can do is shiver, lean into it, let Mackie unwind him with nothing but a touch.

**Author's Note:**

> nothing to see here except my own id
> 
> (come join me [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/))


End file.
